


Trust the Guard

by triden



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020), Trust (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, F/F, F/M, M/M, Not Beta Read, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:21:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29690790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triden/pseuds/triden
Summary: A Trust(2018)/Old Guard crossover AU! Its 1980 in Calabria, Italy; Primo Nizzuto is the head of one of the richest, most successful crime syndicates in the world and now he's immortal.But along with Primo's new immortality comes vivid dreams of the ocean that he isn't sure are real... a little rabble of fellow immortals that Primo has to learn how to live with because unfortunately they don't stay dead when he kills them for being too annoying... an identity change to Nicolo di Genova... and.... a man named Yusuf.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 31
Kudos: 47





	1. Inizio

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all!
> 
> Excuse the long author note, I promise it will be the only one!
> 
> I have been an avid fan of The Old Guard since it first came out as a movie in Netflix. Its been an incredible journey getting to follow a fandom from the beginning(yes I know it was a comic before the movie came out, but most of us hadn’t known about the comic before the movie made it mainstream) to what it is now just six months later. The people that have come together to create amazing thought provoking discussions, fiction and artwork during a global pandemic and huge civil unrest in the US is a very beautiful thing.
> 
> I’d like to blame those things on the fact that it took me such an embarrassing amount of time to look into the other works that the cast, writer(Greg Rucka has several other comic book series that I am eager to delve into) and director(Gina Prince-Bythewood- yes I’ll be on the close lookout for more projects that she had or will direct as well!) Charlize Theron is amazing; I was already such a huge fan of hers and The Old Guard just clinched it! I look forward to watching more of Kiki Layne and trust me, my que is full with more of her stuff.
> 
> The Old Guard did an amazing job of introducing a hugely diverse cast that I am honestly kicking myself for being so stuck in my own little world and stuck on my own country! “Foreign” movies and television had always put me off because unfortunately, I am monolingual and only speak English.  
> For a long time I was under the misconceived notion that having to read the subtitles of a movie would ruin the flow and interrupt my ability to really get drawn into that world(Even though I have always found other languages beautiful, the fact that I couldn’t understand them made them a little intimidating.)
> 
> The Old Guard brought actors from all over and specifically told those actors to keep their accents and encouraged them to fall into their native languages throughout the movie(Thank you, Luca :) It was not only beautiful but an eye opener for me. As someone who had avoided the majority of foreign films due to the subtitles, I had in part avoided discovering the amazing stories and talented actors/actresses from other countries. I truly do thank The Old Guard for opening my eyes to the talents of Luca Marinelli, Marwan Kenzari, and Mathias Schoenaerts. They are all award winning, incredibly talented actors.
> 
> I haven’t gotten very far on my “Must watch list” Luca has been my first stop and my god am I having so much fun watching him! Maybe because The Old Guard introduced him to me where he spoke both English and Italian but I’m having no problem enjoying his Italian movies with the English subtitles. His inflections in his words and his incredible acting talent are so easy to see.
> 
> He fully immerses himself in every character and has played everything from the kind, wise old soul in Nicky(The Old Guard), to a shockingly beautiful transgender woman(L’ultimo Terrestre) to an absolutely insane villain in the superhero comedy(They Call me Jeeg) to a brilliant and absolutely feral mafioso boss(Trust) Luca is so convincing in each role that you can’t imagine him as anyone else.
> 
> You all can blame Trust and Luca cast as Primo Nazzuto for this crossover fic. He was such a wonderful little shit! I honestly couldn’t help but laugh and love him. I meant to write alternating POV each chapter but it was so fun being trapped in Primo’s mind-space that I didn’t want to leave. I truly fear for the time I get to watch the rest of Luca’s work(yes Trust was my first one *facepalm*) followed by Marwan and Mathias and Kiki. I imagine the crossovers in the future might get a tad bit ridiculous but I refuse to believe I am the only one that is getting attacked by the plot bunnies.
> 
> And so this is a crossover with Trust which I highly recommend watching. Not only because Luca is amazing but the show itself is very good and while you can probably read this fic without watching it; the story will make more sense if you’ve seen the show. Its on Amazon Prime and really affordable to download. Its only one season(completed) and 10 episodes. Luca appears in Ep. 3 and plays a pretty significant role thereafter. If you do watch it, you’ll understand exactly why I wrote Primo/Nicky a little homicidal in this fic. Compared to the show, I actually wrote him a little tame, but I tried to transition him to Nicky in a believable and credible way.
> 
> I invite everyone to jump in with prompts, additional scenes, artwork and spin off fics! Just tag me in it so I can enjoy the ride with you!
> 
> I already have the sequel finished as well as one installment scene and a few ideas for more.
> 
> Enjoy!

Note: **Bold- Dreams with Quynh**

Italics- _Translations of other languages... mostly Italian_

Disclaimer:

I used Google translate so any inaccuracies in the translations are Google’s fault Lol. Feel free to DM if I need to correct anything.

Also, all time-lines and events are based off of my lazy research skills with Wikipedia and as such are mostly a work of fiction!

I own nothing you recognize! I’ve borrowed many of the quotes and dialogue from The Old Guard and Trust because writing a crossover and AU fic without the iconic lines, dialogue, and quotes just wouldn’t feel right.

You’ll notice that some of the dialog was originally said by a different character. The only reason I changed anything is because it fit better in the scene and flow of this fic. It is not at all because I feel like it would have been a better line when spoken by another character. The dialogue in both The Old Guard and Trust was incredible and I did my best to include as much of it as I could even if that meant the characters traded some of their lines around.

In addition, you may feel like the characters(especially Andy and Booker) are a bit OOC but with the different sequence of events, I truly think that they wouldn’t have remained the same as they were in either their emotions or their actions. The sequence of events in The Old Guard was slightly altered, but don’t worry! I kept everything as true as I could!

\--------------------------------

Chapter 1

When Primo gasped awake he was laying in blood soaked clothes in a shallow grave.

He vividly remembered getting shot in the gut and he very clearly remembered staggering, falling onto his ass and dragging himself back to prop weakly against a wall. Most importantly, he remembered pulling his hand away from his stomach and seeing it covered in his own blood.

Now, Primo wasn’t a squeamish man; he’d been covered head to toe in blood and things much worse many times before. He has reveled in it just as many times. On the several occasions he has seen his own blood, he had mostly laughed through those times... admittedly his laugh had probably been a bit unhinged but Primo had gladly embraced the murderous rage that came to him so naturally and used it to help him carry through with his retribution.

This last time though, his blood had pooled around him at an alarming rate and his vision had grayed out at the edges much faster than any time before.

As Primo looked up from his position sprawled against the brick wall of the building behind him, he cast one last smirk and, as sarcastic as he could manage, lifted his hand in a salute to the man who had once, years ago, threatened to kill him if Primo dared to touch him again. Considering that Primo had done far worse than lay hands on the man, Primo could only respect Leonardo for actually following through on his threats for once. He supposed there was a first time for everything...

So Primo just closed his eyes and had allowed the darkness to take him, his pain and his rage to the grave. As that heavy dark cloak swallowed him whole, he smiled with one last thought, ‘I will be back and I will haunt him and all of his descendants for the rest of eternity.’

...And now he was awake... And judging by the blood slicked feeling of his shirt and the smell of the rich forest soil he was currently laid out in, Primo was very much not a ghost. That said, if he actually allowed Leonardo to bury him in this hastily dug grave and burn his remains, Primo may very well become a ghost...

When he tentatively propped himself up onto his elbows, Primo felt no pain. He sat up and felt around what had once been a large gaping gut wound, but was now just the grimy tatters of his favorite shirt. He scrambled to his feet, ripped off the remains of the shirt and stared in shock at the flawless skin on his stomach. Not a single mark or dent on the skin remained, just dried smears of blood and what he thought might be bits of intestine. Primo was confused to say the least. Had he dreamt the whole thing? Maybe...

Primo wasn’t the type to lie to himself. He knew he happily rode the edge of mentally unhinged and sanity. He had always embraced it but he also wasn't a stupid man. The blood on his clothes, the shallow grave, the large hole in his shirt… he had died and he knew Leonardo was going to be back shortly to take care of his “remains”. Well… Primo wasn’t going to stick around and give him the satisfaction of a job well done.

'Let the bastard think that someone stole my body.’ It would serve Leonardo right, thinking that Primo wouldn’t give him a headache even from beyond the grave.

Primo always had a contingency plan. He would make his way to a hideout only he knew about outside of the village. He’ll dig into his hidden stash of weapons, money and drugs, get a fix and then he’ll come up with a plan. He does his best thinking high on coke, drunk on good whiskey and under the heavy bass of club music; he would spend the next few days thinking of the perfect plan to carry out his revenge.

If he had to tear apart the entire empire he and Leonardo had just built then he would. Primo had very little to lose now.

\--------------‐

Primo blamed the dreams he had that night on the cocaine and shitty alcohol. A drunk blonde man, a dangerous woman with an ax and a handsome man with a sketchbook. He didn’t recognize any of those people and to make it worse, he woke up with the odd taste of salt water in his mouth…. It had to have been a bad batch of coke.

Primo staggered up and away from the rock he had passed out against a few hours ago. The cave was yet another he had found on his travels and he had never shared its location with anyone. He may have been a loyal man but he wasn’t blind nor stupid. Every person in his family and really, every person in their line of work all had their own secrets. For their personal continued health, they all had their own secrets.

Primo would wait and watch, he had patience. He would be ready to strike with his revenge when the moment was right. He actually found himself to be quite eager to see everyone’s reactions to his supposed death. He could scope out who was innocent and who was suspiciously happy to see him dead. Then he would strike down every person who had a hand in his murder.

Five years ago, when Primo had cleaned out, aka killed off, his family and expanded the business as well as its reach and influence..he’d been trying to convince his uncle to do it for years with no success... Leonardo had been his chosen partner. He had always liked the man, but he had never really fully trusted him. How could Primo fully trust a man who had wanted to quit the business they had both spent their whole lives immersed in to grow olives?

After Primo forcibly took over as head of the family, he and Leonardo had worked well together for five years. They had built the port, extended their reach to all of Europe and half the world They had pocketed hundreds of millions. They were the most powerful crime organization in the region. Leonardo was the numbers man and Primo had been the brains and the face. Together they put their little farming town of Calabria on the map.

Leonardo’s teenage son, Francesco, had been right there with them, bright eyed and eager to learn everything. By the time the kid had turned eighteen, Primo had thought he was more than ready to learn the dirty side of their business. But apparently, that was one step too far for Leonardo. Why the man had thought that the heir to the largest and richest crime family in Europe would never get exposed to the dirty wet work that all mafioso families lived or died by Primo didn't know… Leonardo was a moron… he was a smart man but also a very very stupid man.

But that was fine, Primo would take care of it like always. In the long run, Francesco would be better off without a moron for a father. Primo would just have to make sure to put a bullet in every person that saw or was involved in his death. Then and only then could he go back to running his business like he should be.

The perfect moment came only a few days later.

Sneaking into Leonardo’s house this time was only slightly more difficult than the last time Primo had snuck in back when Leonardo had lived in a ramshackle two bedroom house. The much larger mansion was still and silent and mostly unguarded. It was naive and foolish of Leonardo to believe himself to be so safe that security was optional.

Primo made just enough noise to purposely be heard as he picked the lock to the back door and let himself inside. But as he slunk through the dark sitting room, he was startled when a hand closed over his mouth and a thick arm wrapped around his waist. Primo was lifted off his feet and dragged backwards but he tried to not make himself an easy victim. He thrashed violently, kicking wildly but his assailant hardly budged.

Then a strangely familiar face entered his line of vision. Two familiar faces. He stilled and the hand covering his mouth dropped away. What he had thought were figments of his cocaine fueled dreams were now standing right in front of him; the tall, bedraggled looking blonde man and the beautiful, if a bit scary dark haired woman and by power of deduction, Primo's assailant must have been the dark, curly haired man.

Primo opened his mouth to demand answers but before he could, the guards he had easily bypassed outside the house, came rushing into the room with guns drawn. The woman reached over her shoulder to the... Was that an ax?!... holstered on her back. She sliced it forward in a lethal arc. A spin and a swing and she struck the second guard down just as easily as the first. In response, Primo could only raise both eyebrows and both hands in an impressed but still mocking surrender.

The woman just glared at him and motioned for the other two men to take him out the door. They didn’t waste time. With efficient and precise movements, they swiftly and much more silently than Primo had come in, dragged Primo out the same way he had initially snuck in. When he was shoved into the backseat of a car, Primo concluded that they weren’t mafioso or rival cartel since he hadn’t been shoved into the trunk.

The woman slid behind the wheel and the blonde man got into the front passenger seat. The dark haired man with the heavy scruff seated himself next to Primo behind the blonde man. They all completely disregarded him, like he was nothing more than an innocent little ride-along.

Thoroughly intrigued, Primo just stayed quiet and sent judgmental looks to each one of the oddly familiar strangers and waited to be entertained. He was disappointed. His three kidnappers stayed as silent and as stoic as Primo himself...how boring.

\--------------

They drove for hours cloaked in the dark of the early morning hours. Taking into account the excessive speeds the woman was driving at, they had to be well on their way out of Italy. She wasn't quite as fast as the speed of light but she was trying her damnest to be as close to it as possible.

Primo was honestly unconcerned and mostly bored and as such had drifted off into a light doze with his head resting against the cool glass of the window. Distantly, he felt the dark haired man next to him stretch out his limbs and sprawl out a bit in the seat. The warmth from the man’s knee brushing his leeched throughout Primo’s whole body and only served to ease him into a deeper sleep.

**Dark. So dark he couldn’t see his own hand in front of his face.**

**No air in his lungs, salt in his mouth and a rage and insanity so deep that Primo’s brain looked fully sane and well adjusted next to it.**

**He could see the shape of a coffin with holes for the eyes and mouth cut out of the "face". Inside the coffin, Primo could make out movement but an almost constant stream of air bubbles rushing out of the holes and into the vast water around them, blocked most of Primo's view.**

**Like the little shit he knew himself to be, Primo ignored the angry emotions flooding his psyche and mentally poked at the dream figure. A snarl of rage answered him. He watched with an unattached curiosity as the figure ran out of air, died, and then revived in quick succession. Primo sent another mental prod at the figure only to have the rage and insanity directed at him the same as before.**

**It was a bit like watching a caged Gorilla at a zoo when it charged at the glass of the enclosure that kept it separated from the masses of people on the other side antagonizing it. A person knew and could feel that if the gorilla ever got out and released its rage, it would leave a path of destruction so wide that extreme measures would be necessary to re-capture it... But... The glass was thick and the cage was secure, someone _probably_ wouldn't get killed from tapping the glass. **

**After the figure's tenth revival, Primo spoke. “Che Vita noiosa conduci.” _What a boring life you lead_. **

**For a moment, the feeling of rage gave way to an almost startled amusement. Primo saw the flash of a white grin before he was abruptly jolted out of the rather bizarre dream.**

Primo jerked away from the broad palm that had landed on his knee.

“Are you ok?”

He shot a narrow eyed look at the man next to him before looking back out the car window. “Si.” _Yes_.

They had stopped the car at a patrol station. Primo could see the woman haggling the attendant in rapid English. The blonde man turned in his seat to look back at Primo.

“De quoi as-tu rêvé?” _What did you dream_?

Primo looked at the man with his shaggy hair. It wasn’t quite as long as Primo’s and it certainly wasn’t as well kept. He had a rough beard and sunken eyes. Primo could guess that the man drank heavily and often... Primo could relate to that. The sorrow and guilt that the man wore like a second skin; however, Primo couldn’t find anything in common with.

There was nothing in life so bad that a snort of coke and a few drinks couldn’t do to let a man see the other side of a bad situation. This man drank to forget or perhaps drank to dull the pain. Primo drank to dull the edges of the world as well, but the edges was where he found the most enjoyment out of life. The world was too sharp but at the same time too dull and it came along with stringent rules and morals that made very little sense to him without the help of drugs and alcohol.

The blonde man must have taken Primo’s silence as assumption that he didn’t speak french. The man mostly assumed correctly. Primo spoke enough to get by, enough to conduct business but that was all.

“Cosa hai sognato?” _What did you dream_? The man tried again in hesitant Italian.

Primo just slouched back in his seat and pasted a crooked half smirk on his face. The Frenchman just snorted, shook his head and turned back around with a muttered Italian, “Piccola merda.” _Little shit_.

Primo let his half smirk grow into a cheeky grin. The man next to Primo let out a huff of laughter at their interaction and Primo turned back to look at him. On a closer inspection, Primo took notice of the wild black curls, neatly trimmed beard and laugh lines that crinkled at the corners of warm brown eyes. He looked as if he enjoyed life and laughed often.

Judging by the charcoal smudges on his fingertips, Primo guessed that the man was an artist and as such saw beauty in all aspects of life. He probably found joy in even the smallest of things. And though there was something to envy about that way of life, Primo was born in a world far more complicated and dark.

He had briefly thought as a boy that joining the church would help him to escape from the ruthless crime riddled family he’d been born into. However, after he saw the priest accept bribes from his Uncle, Primo had accepted that the only light and beauty he would find would be with a snort of coke and the burn of alcohol.

The driver’s door squeaked open and the woman slid back into the seat in front of Primo, “Bene sei sveglio.” _Good, you’re awake._

Brusque and no nonsense. She’d make a good businesswoman if she ever decided to go that route. She wasn’t currently one at the moment though... Primo could be wrong but unless she was a part of the mafia like he himself was, then the stiff and dangerous way she held herself spoke more to a mercenary job or a hired gun career than a member of the mafioso.

What Primo couldn’t figure out was why a hired mercenary would prefer a round antique ax over a silenced gun. Effective and deadly though it was, the ax made for quite a lot of cleanup. But then again, Primo had used whatever he had at hand at any given time so he could hardly judge someone for their preferences in weapons. To each man his own.

“Si.” _Yes_. Primo confirmed.

“Lei parla inglese?” _Do you speak English_?

“Some.”

“Good. We’re heading to a safe house. We’ll explain everything when we get there.”

“Okay. Svegliami quando arriviamo.” _Wake me when we arrive._

Primo gleefully closed his eyes and ignored the gobsmacked look he received from the Frenchman and the raised eyebrow he could imagine was on the woman’s face. He did catch the quiet chuckle from the crinkly eyed artist next to him though. Primo fell asleep with a barely there smile that almost curled his lips.

\---------

**This time when Primo tasted salt, the accompanying rage was dampened and the curiosity was bolder. The insanity was still lurking around the edges of his awareness but Primo was well acquainted with the feeling so he gave it no further thought.**

**“Ciao.” _Hello_. Primo saw a flash of teeth again and this time he caught a gleam of dark eyes.**

**“Parli latino? Francais? Eurbaa? Parli Inglese?” _Do you speak Latin? French? Arabic? English?_**

**The questions were rapid fire, rushed and in several different languages, but then Primo watched the vengeful creature drown and revive, so he could understand the reason for the quick staccato.**

**“Some English.”**

**“I mio italiano é pessimo.” _My Italian is bad._**

**“We speak English together.” Primo reassured her. Another quick flashing smile, a rush of air bubbles and Primo waited out another drowning cycle.**

**“Where are you trapped?” Because though Primo wasn’t convinced she was anything more than a weird dream, she was at the very least interesting and she seemed to be a kindred spirit that he wanted to see set loose.**

**“I do not know. At the bottom of an ocean.”**

**“How did you get there?” Primo asked her with a stoic curiosity. A long pause with another drowning answered him. He waited patiently.**

**“I was taken from Andromache when we were captured in England.”**

**“Andro---mache?” Primo asked with a hesitation, not sure if he was reading the name right off of her lips.**

**“My lover.”**

**“Where is he?” A wide toothy grin and another long pause answered Primo’s question as his new friend drowned and revived again**

**“She…. is the one sitting in front of you with the sharp ax.”**

**Primo gasps awake**.

Finite chapter 1


	2. Nazzuto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my post on Tumblr for the series of gifts stories that started it all!
> 
> https://hjryder.tumblr.com/post/640223842454896641/solarsystemmoonandsun-how-can-this-little-shit

Chapter 2: Nazzuto

They had just pulled the car up in front of an abandoned warehouse when Primo jerked violently awake.

The looks he got from the other occupants in the car varied. An intense stare from who he now knew was Andromache. Sympathy and pity from the Frenchman. And concern from the man with the wild curls. Primo ignored them all and opened his door.

“Let’s go.” Primo barely stopped himself from slipping into Italian. Perhaps he could teach these strangers to appreciate the beauty of his language before they parted ways. He had a feeling the curly haired man could give his language the respect it deserved.

The warehouse had the look of an old logging factory that hadn’t been in working condition in decades. The glass windows were all streaked with dirt and broken and the steel building was rusted and discolored. Compared to the caves and abandoned houses he had squatted in before, the warehouse was actually quite nice.

Primo stretched languidly and patiently waited--- he pointedly didn’t offer his help either, these were still his kidnappers after all--- for the others to pull out several cases and duffle bags from the trunk of the car. He was almost disappointed when there were no bodies hidden inside. If it had been Primo's trunk, chances were about 60/40 in favor of a body being stashed inside on any given day…

They led the way to a heavy sliding door that marked the only visible entrance to the building. At a sedate pace, Primo followed Andromache and the Frenchman inside. The other man came in behind him and slid the door shut.

There was enough light coming in through the broken windows that Primo could make out a few dust covered pieces of heavy machinery, a broken set of wooden chairs and a table that tilted to the floor on two and a half legs. They led him past that to another, smaller metal door that looked like it had been an office a long time ago.

Other than a rusted desk and a tarnished set of metal filing cabinets, the room contained nothing else. Or so Primo thought. Andromache wrenched the right side of the cabinet away from the concrete wall and it swung out on a hidden hinge to reveal a large hole. Primo followed the woman through the hole and found himself impressed.

The interior reminded Primo of the loft he had lived in in Rome for a brief time in his teens when he had left Calabria after his father’s death... It had worn comfortable furniture, a small kitchenette with a wooden table and four chairs, a door Primo assumed led to a bathroom, and tucked away in a corner, there were a few old cots with folded blankets and pillows stacked on them.

Nothing matched and everything looked like it had been scavenged from various places and brought here one piece at a time. It was all covered in a thin layer of dust, though not nearly as thick as the layer that blanketed the rest of the warehouse. It looked lived in and cozy and Primo liked it.

Andromache set the bag she was carrying down on one of the cots then turned and motioned Primo to take one of the chairs around the kitchen table, “Sit. We’ll cook up something quick and then we’ll talk.” Primo shrugged. At this point, he was learning more about these people by watching them move silently around the room than he would from any type of interrogation technique he had used in the past.

The blonde man went straight to one of the lower cabinets and dug in the back before pulling out several dusty bottles of liqueur. He set them down on the counter but not in a gentle manner that told Primo that the man held what looked to be a 60 year old scotch in very high esteem. This man viewed alcohol just as a means to an end, not something to savor and appreciate.

The other man set a canvas bag and a suitcase down on another of the empty cots. He carefully withdrew several leather bound books and a small brass cigarette case though Primo was sure the man didn’t smoke. The case was probably re-purposed to hold the missing charcoal that had left its tells stained on the man’s fingers. He strode over to the table, pulled out the chair on Primo’s left and sat, no... sprawled in the chair like he did in the car; taking up as much space as his over six foot frame and long limbs could manage and still look relaxed and causal. He spread his legs wide and stretched one arm to rest on the back of Primo’s chair, which Primo wasn’t crazy about but he said nothing and chose to act as though the man didn't even exist.

Primo was far too used to men inviting themselves into his space. He did it himself when he wanted to throw someone off balance; to make them reveal how uncomfortable they were with him. Primo and almost every man he had grown up around had used that particular move for intimidation and dominance, taking the Italian way of showing affection and manipulating it to allow them to invade another person’s space knowing that the other person couldn’t say anything without seeming rude.

Primo had seen the move used by his father and Uncle to show lesser men that his father and Uncle could do whatever they pleased, take whatever space they demanded and not have a word spoken against it. If the other man backed away and showed his discomfort, he also showed his submission. If he stayed and let his Uncle push their personal boundaries, they showed they were strong enough to stand by his Uncle's side. No one had ever dare to step into his Uncle's space though, it had always been his Uncle charging forward and being the aggressor.

But instinctively, Primo knew that the curly haired man wasn't invading his space for the same reasons. It was still unclear to him the real reason the man was sticking so uncomfortably close to him. Primo wasn’t used to other people voluntarily sharing his space much less someone he knew nothing about.

The woman, Andromache, if the crazy creature locked in a coffin on the ocean floor was to be believed, pulled out a few pots and filled them with water. She turned a knob on the stove and ignited the burner with a match. The blonde man set a plastic bag on the table and grabbed out a box of spaghetti and a can of tomato sauce.

Primo couldn’t have stopped the offended noise that came up out of his throat even if he had tried, “Disgustoso. Pasto da una lattina.” _Disgusting. Meal from a can._

The blonde man snickered at him and set about prepping a kettle for tea. The woman just rolled her eyes, “Yeah we get it. Italians would never stoop so low as to eat pasta out of a box.”

“Vergognoso.” _Disgraceful._ Primo agreed. The man next to him barked out a laugh and stretched his arms back to thread his fingers together behind his head. Primo refused to notice the way the material of the man’s shirt tightened across his chest. Instead, he focused on the small indulgent smile that curled the corner of Andromache’s mouth.

“You’ll get over it or you’ll do it yourself.” Primo grinned cheekily at her, “Grazzie… Next time.” She just shook her head at Primo and went back to making the sad excuse for dinner.

It didn't take long before they all sat down with a bowl of spaghetti and sauce from a can… Primo still had his lip curled a bit at that, but he lifted his fork and paused before taking a bite. The others dug into their food like a starving pack of wild dogs, like they hadn't eaten in days. Primo waited until they all had their mouths full and watched in anticipation as the blonde man took a gulp of his scotch… then he spoke.

“You are Andromache.” He watched with a high degree of satisfaction as the blonde man sprayed his drink across the table, the curly haired man choked on his mouthful of pasta and the woman went still the same way a predator would right after they had spotted a fellow hunter.

Primo smiled smugly... Good. He had their attention.

“How do you know that name?” Andromache demanded curtly.

“I listen.”

Both of the men just stared at him and Andromache narrowed her eyes. Primo set his fork down and leaned back in his chair in a slouch that made it clear to them that he was far more dangerous and far more unconcerned about his own well being than they had assumed.

“Who are you?” Andromache demanded again, this time her voice raised in volume. Primo very carefully kept the surprise off his face. So they didn’t know who he was... And if they didn’t know that, then they didn’t know that Primo was head of one of the biggest and richest factions of the Ndrangheta crime syndicates in Europe. If that was true, Primo was hardly going to be the one to educate them. No, he would keep both his identity and his dreams of the mysterious drowning woman to himself as long as he deemed necessary.

He opened his arms and shook his hands in a mocking “ta-da” gesture and then he pulled the name of a childhood friend out of his memory.

That boy had been an orphan that had stayed with his uncle briefly before he died in an undocumented “drowning accident”. That was the first boy Primo had ever kissed. They were both twelve and his uncle had seen them. Primo had been beaten so bad by his father that he had pissed blood for a week.

Out of self preservation, Primo had kept his sexuality securely locked away after that. It had been safer to be seen as an asexual freak than queer… at least then he’d live to see another sunrise. After he had taken care of first his father and then years later his uncle and carefully cultivated his reputation for being well known for his dangerous and unstable temperament, only then had Primo felt comfortable allowing that side of himself out to see the light so to speak. Not that Primo's willingness to be open about his sexuality had made much difference in the end. He had hardly been tempted by anyone enough to actually act on his urges. Leonardo had come the closest to an actual crush for Primo but Primo had also known the attraction had stemmed from the respect between them and his appreciation for the man's brain and not anything as simple as lust.

...The name of the that brave orphan twelve year old boy existed only in Primo’s memory and he had never before used it as an alias. It would work well here.

“Nicolo. Nicolo di Genova… But you can call me Nicky.”

The cheeky wink he sent them sealed the deal.

\------------

Once the men were able to shake themselves out of their stupor, they calmly explained the situation Primo currently found himself in. The woman, confirmed to be Andromache and who had reluctantly informed him that she had gone by Andy since the 1950s, just stood back and glowered at him. Her posture remained stiff and distrustful. But Primo was honestly quite amused by it and did nothing nor offered any explanations to help ease her suspicions. She didn’t volunteer any more than her abbreviated name, but it hardly bothered him. Primo would be patient and if he even chose to stay, he would find out what he needed to know eventually.

The blonde Frenchman introduced himself as Sebastian Le Livre but insisted on everyone calling him Booker. He claimed to have been born in 1771. Primo just snorted out a mocking laugh, “You look very good for your age.”

The man rolled his eyes and continued on explaining how he had died fighting for Napoleon in Russia in 1812. Primo didn’t say anything to that but allowed the amused grin spread across his face. If the man wanted to claim himself to be a reincarnation…

Primo didn’t think that these people were on any kind of drugs; he was a bit of an expert after all. And he hadn’t been out of their presence for at least the last 24 hours and hadn’t seen them take anything during that time. They didn’t seem to be experiencing any side effects of drug use. If you discounted the exhaustion that clung to each of them and the smell of liquor on the blonde man, they all seemed sober and clean with no needle tracks and clear eyes. They weren’t shaky, jittery or even hung over; just unkempt looking.

What was even more odd, Primo himself wasn’t experiencing any withdrawals. He couldn’t remember the last time he went 24 hours without a cigarette, a shot of alcohol, or a bump of cocaine and he wasn't in any way suffering for it. He felt very sober and clear headed. It was odd to see the world without the effects or withdrawals of the drugs that had been so prevalent in Primo’s life. He wasn’t yet sure he liked it all that much, it was a very strange place.

The second man smiled warmly at Booker. Primo tried not to notice the lines around his eyes when they crinkled with silent laughter, “I don’t think he believes you, Book.”

“Well then, share your story and see how he looks at you.” Booker retorted and the other man chuckled.

He was still slouched back comfortably, not a tense muscle in his body as he motioned between Andy and Booker with a graceful wave of his hand, “Andy and I found Booker close to a decade after he died. By then he had crawled his way back to his wife and sons and was pretending to age.”

Primo only raised an eyebrow at that. The man continued, clearly enjoying the telling of his story, “I was born in 1066 in The Maghreb as Yusuf al-Kaysani. I was the son of a merchant but I picked up a sword to defend Jerusalem. I died in 1099 during the first Crusade by a sword through the stomach by a Catholic man with a giant red cross on his armor.”

Primo’s other eyebrow shot up and he sat back a little in his chair to carefully regard the supposedly almost nine hundred year old man next to him. The man just smiled at the disbelief that Primo knew must be written all over his face and continued his story, “When I woke, it was on the battlefield in a pile of wounded and dead soldiers from both sides. As soon as I realized that I was not dead and had no wound, I fled the battle. I died several more times trying to make it to safety. When Andy found me, nearly a century had passed and I had done quite a lot of living.”

Primo scoffed, a rude disbelief evident in his tone, and pointed at the two men, “If he is over one hundred and seventy years old and him over eight hundred and eighty years old… what does that make you, Andromache?” He shot a lazy grin at the tense woman standing by the stove.

“Old.” Primo widened his eyes and waved her on to keep her talking.

“Too old.” Was her singular response. And Primo laughed… loud and long and mocking, “Qualunque cosa tu sia, ne voglio un po.” _Whatever you are on, I want some._

“Joe.” Andromache nodded to the man, Yusuf, who had apparently died fighting in a war against the Catholic Church during the fucking Crusades. Before Primo could so much as wipe the unhinged grin off of his face, “Joe” pulled a gun from his waistband, lifted it and shot Primo in the head.

\------------

Primo woke up on the floor with a groan and a curse, “Che cazzo.” _What the fuck._

“Welcome to the family.”

Primo ignored the greeting as he saw the bullet that had been shot into his head fall to the ground. And wasn’t that a weird sensation… feeling his skull knit back together. No matter; he wasn't one to take his vengeance lying down...

In one quick movement, Primo lunged to his feet and with two big steps he was next to the cot. He grabbed the ax that Andromache had so lethally yielded when the three had initially kidnapped him and from behind him, heard the others scramble toward him. When Primo turned back around he swung the ax with vicious accuracy...

It left a gaping slice across Yusuf’s neck. The man’s face was frozen in shock.

In the next second, Yusuf fell to the ground dead with only a small pool of blood forming underneath him and Andromache had a gun leveled at Primo's head with the safety off and a finger on the trigger. There was a completely terrifying warning in her eyes but Primo just grinned wildly, adrenaline and a touch of madness now more than apparent in his shaking limbs.

“I feel better now.” He held the ax out for Andromache to take. She put the safety back on, slid the gun back into the waistband at the small of her back, and then snatched her ax back from him.

At their feet, Yusuf jerked awake and Primo could only watch with a detached sort of fascination as his neck wound fully closed and the man sat up. He looked up at Primo and Primo only shrugged at him nonchalantly. Yusuf merely hung his head, sighed and got to his feet.

\--------

Over the next few days, Primo found out that he was now a part of a small group of immortals... and yes he did notice the hesitation and darting glances at Andromache when they told him the actual number of so called members...it was very telling that they didn't allude at all to the one at the bottom of the ocean... And there had apparently been one more several thousand years prior but the man had been cut open in battle and his wounds had stopped healing.

There was no rhyme or reason to it and Andy had no answers. It just was what it was. They all had their time and eventually everything must die. Primo was already a firm believer of that. The fact that he may have an extra few thousand years before that happened changed nothing for him.

The hardest thing about their situation was the task of staying under the radar and away from the attention of powerful people. Attention would only reveal their lack of aging and that would only reveal their lack of mortality and that, in turn, would only reveal their lack of answers.

Booker had told Primo about his family and what their deaths, anger and hatred had done. And Primo now knew that to be the cause of the grief and guilt that Booker had carried like a cloak around his shoulders for what sounded like the last hundred and fifty years.

“We need to change your appearance.”

So Primo shaved his mustache. When Booker suggested he cut his hair, Primo stabbed him with the scissors... It was only a non fatal puncture wound to his shoulder but Andy threatened to castrate Primo with her ax if he didn’t start behaving and comply with the makeover. He had been almost curious to see his dick grow back... Joe had assured him it would. The man had first hand experience from a bomb to the crotch when he was fighting in Germany in World War I. But he also winced and the explanation of “Just because we heal doesn’t mean we don’t feel pain” had made Primo decide not to test it. And so he got his hair trimmed and styled in a way that was meant to be worn combed back away from his face.

“Now your name. Do you have family?”

Primo waved off Andromache’s question,“Nicolo is fine.”

“We should change it just in case.” She urged him.

“It is not my real name, I gave you a false one.” At the three confused and expectant stares, Primo deadpanned, “My name is Primo Nazzuto.”

A pause and then… “Fuck!” a shout from Andromache and… “Merde.” from Booker... Yusuf just sat back heavily and groaned, his broad hands coming up to scrub over his face.

“Of course you’re the boss of the largest crime family in Europe… why wouldn’t you be.” Booker’s muttered words had Primo tossing a wide toothy grin at him

  
finite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for commenting and leaving Kudos! For real, its such great encouragement! Let me know what you think of this chapter! Things will start to pick up from here with some gentle time skips.


	3. Confessioni

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Primo settles in as Nicky and reveals some things about Quynh
> 
> Link to complementary gif set below
> 
> https://hjryder.tumblr.com/post/644769084081307648/trust-the-guard-chapter-3-is-up-thanks-to

Chapter 3

The following months had Primo adjusting to the team. He was used to bouncing ideas off of and going to Leonardo for his opinion on certain things so working with others wasn’t new. What was new was the fact that Primo wouldn’t ever be rid of these people.

Before, when someone pissed Primo off, when they insulted him or even just outlived their usefulness; a shot to the head, a rope around their neck, or a shove off a high ledge took care of the cause of Primo’s annoyance. Unfortunately, he couldn’t use those tactics to get rid of annoying people any longer. He’d tried. Repeatedly.

He got Andy a few times while sparring. He fought dirty which Andy only seemed to approve of.

Booker, Primo took great enjoyment in putting the man out of his misery any time the Frenchman got too drunk. He always woke up sober and pissed but Primo noticed a sharp decline in his drinking with the intention to get black out drunk.

Primo didn’t do it all of the time, he had fun drinking with Booker often. They shared a handful of drinks every night with each other but when the man took it too far, Primo put a bullet... or a knife...or a sword...or on a really memorable occasion, he actually caused Booker to choke on a pretzel. Primo was still laughing himself hoarse when Booker finally revived.

Primo liked to think he was training Booker not to use drinking as a way to numb the memories. He was training him to view alcohol as it should be, a way to cut loose and let his inhibitions go to have fun. Punishing for bad behavior and rewarding for good... like one of Pavlov’s dogs... sort of.

When Primo actually said that to Booker’s face, the man didn’t hesitate to break the liquor bottle in his hand over Primo’s head. Primo was still cackling like a maniac when he revived. Booker just shook his head in disgust but Primo saw the affection there.

Yusuf was the odd duck. The man was almost annoyingly serene. And not serene in the still and quiet way… No one did still and quiet and patient quite like Primo… no, the man was boisterous and joyful. He was endlessly optimistic and seemed to have a deep well of passion in his soul.

Yusuf was sunny and warm and bright, like a beautiful morning on a beach somewhere by the ocean. One could feel relaxed and content lounging on a towel in the sun, but one also felt the deepness of the ocean thrum through them at a base level. You could feel the power but they could fall asleep warm and safe on its shore.

He had never before felt so safe in another person's presence. It unnerved him. Yusuf unnerved him.

What stretched between them wasn’t a sexual tension, though there was certainly some of that as well. Joe took great joy in sparring shirtless with Primo and the man was built very well... powerful... even Primo could admit that. But the feeling was deeper than that… a connection Primo had never felt with another person before.

Primo wasn’t a stranger to dalliances with other people. A woman in his late teens where he discovered that women, while beautiful had very little effect on his libido, and a few drunken fumbling encounters with men for a night here and there. Primo honestly found most of those interactions tedious and dull so he didn’t often go looking for that particular social interaction. He much preferred the cocaine high he usually engaged in. It was a vast and interesting experience every time he did it and it made life with another person seem endlessly boring.

So the want Primo felt to feed the connection with Joe… the need to see how deep it could run… Primo wasn’t sure what to do with it. It was different and strange and fascinating.

Normally when he had a problem he couldn’t work out and that couldn’t be solved by a well placed bullet, Primo would speak with Leonardo. Leonardo always brought a perspective or a question that helped Primo to see another path to a solution. But because he couldn’t exactly go to talk to Leonardo now.... Primo could only see two ways to work out his feelings. Kill Joe or talk to Quynh (they had exchanged names not long after he had arrived).

Since he could only communicate with Quynh when he slept which was admittedly better and deeper now that he wasn’t on a constant cocaine high---Andy watched him like a hawk like the slave driver she was--- Primo settled for working out his feelings for Joe by killing the man. Repeatedly. In as many different ways as he could get creative with... and because Primo had quite an expansive imagination, those ideas numbered in the dozens.

His favorite so far was when he dropped a clay flower pot from a third story window right onto Joe’s smiling face. It had made a very satisfying thunk sound before Joe’s body collapsed to the ground.

And really, it served the man right. He had no business looking at Primo with wide, mushy puppy-dog eyes. No person should look at a man like Primo with that much adoration. Primo couldn’t really count Francesco; the boy had had a silly teenage crush on a powerful figure that showed him a few scraps of affection. Joe was not a teenage boy, he was a nearly nine hundred year old man. He should know better than to crush on a mafia boss with feral, homicidal tendencies.

The man couldn't help but invade Primo's space in the way that only Joe seemed to get away with… An arm resting along the back of the sofa they were both sharing(the sofa only comfortably sat two people but Joe always pressed so close to him, that Andy or Booker could squeeze onto the other end of the couch as well)…

A press of his thigh against Primo’s while sitting down for dinner(and yes Primo had taken over the cooking of the meals for the group if only to keep from shuddering in revulsion at the things the others threw in a pan and dared to to call dinner)…

To an open palm resting on Primo's shoulder or swiping across the nape of Primo's neck any time Joe passed by...

So Primo took it upon himself to educate Joe that Primo was a man better left alone in the most clear way Primo thought he could... by killing Joe at every available opportunity.

Most of the time, Primo usually only felt the urge to wipe that ridiculous adoring smile off the man’s face when it was particularly “twinkly”. The brown eyes went warm and liquid, the laugh lines would deepen to especially crinkly levels and the smile would be so broad(sometimes close lipped and sometimes showing straight white teeth) that Primo could make out the man’s dimples through his full beard. He always looked at Primo like Primo had hung the moon... The man was an incurable idiot.

So Primo killed him. Some of the time it was with whatever was handy; a rock, a knife, a bottle, a clay pot… The other times it was during a spar.

Andy handled most of his hand to hand training...she kicked his ass...a lot.

Booker taught him the wonderful world of explosives...

Primo had so much fun blowing up their safe house in Venice. It was a houseboat. It deserved every last bit of C4 Primo served it... Andy had apparently heard the explosion from the heart of the city and Joe had rolled out of bed and jumped overboard with barely enough time to come away mostly unscathed.

Primo had fled the scene with Booker, the man cursing at him in his mother tongue the entire way. For whatever reason, no one seemed to believe Primo when he said it was an accident, but that was probably due to the wide unhinged grin he couldn't wipe off of his face.

Joe was responsible for his weapons training. Because Primo hardly needed any training with a gun or a rifle, they mostly focused on swords. Why they insisted he learn how to yield a sword made very little sense to Primo. It was 1980 after all, not the 1400s. But… he wasn’t going to argue about being taught yet another way to kill someone.

Joe had his favored sword, a blade he called a scimitar. When Primo tried using it, he grew frustrated when he was limited to blocking or swiping. He found he had to combine the sword with physical fighting like a knee, elbow, or fist to truly get the effectiveness he was aiming for. It often put Primo much closer to his opponent than he preferred.

They experimented with several types of swords before settling on an Italian longsword. It was longer and allowed him to stab someone from a safer distance as well as swipe and cut. He needed more momentum and strength and sometimes two hands but Primo found it far more satisfying to actually be able to cleave someone’s head clean off their body in one swipe.

He did it once to Joe. Primo had found himself actually a little nauseated as he held Joe’s detached head against his too still body and had to watch as it healed and reattached itself. Primo assumed it was the sound of the crunch of bones snapping into place and the sight of muscles and skin threading back together that caused his stomach to churn and not the bizarre, misplaced feelings of guilt and regret.

To make himself feel better, Primo waited until Joe revived before impaling the man in the heart with the same sword. Primo refused to see the metaphor in his actions.

But to be fair, Joe killed Primo just as often when he was demonstrating the proper techniques of swordsmanship. Though he's pretty sure Joe only followed through with the actual killing strike because every time he didn’t, Primo would retaliate with something dirty and underhanded that would land Joe face down in the dirt again.

After disarming and knocking Primo onto his ass, Joe had only offered his hand to help him up twice. The first time, Primo took the proffered hand and then used that momentum to shove a knife he had hidden in his boot straight into Joe’s gut. The second and last time, Primo had sliced said hand off with Joe’s own scimitar.

No matter how many times Primo killed him; some so childishly petty that Booker equated it to a temper tantrum that could have rivaled one of his sons' when they were toddlers, Joe never quit giving him those warm smiles, outright boisterous laughs and sincere compliments.

“Very creative, Nicolo.”

“A clever way to use a knife, Nicolo.”

“One day I shall be as quick on my feet as you, Nicolo.”

He was a very strange man and Primo didn’t know what to do with him.

When Primo complained to Quynh about Joe, she laughed so hard in delight that he had to wait through three cycles of her drowning and reviving before she could wrestle her laughter under control. Primo got the hint that she found his ire amusing. In her words, Joe was the best “little” brother that she could have ever had.

Months ago when Primo had asked, Quynh had just shrugged... well... he assumed she shrugged, he couldn’t actually see her shoulders inside the iron prison... She estimated her age to be around 1000 BCE, give or take a few decades, and she had known Joe for close to four hundred years before she and Andromache were captured during the witch trials in England.

Personally, Primo thought she was a bit off her rocker after over four hundred years trapped alone at the bottom of the ocean. He wasn’t all that certain he could trust her judgment. Afterall, she and Primo got along far too well(they were very very similar) for Primo to be reassured by the “sweetest man alive” commendation she had given Joe.

Primo learned that in the four hundred years that she had been trapped under the waves, Quynh had only started to have brief glimpses into the world, into Joe and Andy, after Booker had died. But as time went on, it seemed that the more he drank, the more sparse those glimpses became. It infuriated Quynh that this man would squander his life away drinking and in turn, unknowingly muffle Quynh’s visions of her family. It only served to make her rage harder and the slide into true insanity become quicker and steeper for her.

From what Primo could piece together, when Booker had first started having the dreams, he had already been alone for weeks and the man had assumed the dreams of her were the result of trauma from the war and hanging. So he drank to deal with the pain and the rage of feeling trapped and helpless.

Once Booker met Andy and Joe and they explained the dreams, he asked them about Quynh. They told him her story with anguish in their eyes and every time after that... whenever Booker was jolted out of a dream of Quynh, he had opened his eyes to see the agony and guilt from their perceived failure written all over their faces.

He was being bombarded with strong emotions on every side; the rage from Quynh, the guilt from Joe, the despair from Andy, and his own guilt and hatred from how he left things off with his family. He couldn't handle the weight, so started to drink heavily to dull everything down and that in turn, softened the impact of Quynh’s insanity drilling into him.

But that caused Quynh to rage against him harder. To had once been able to get hopeful fleeting moments of her beloved family only to have Booker deliberately choke her off from them… Quynh was beyond livid. She became restricted to rare flashes when Booker sobered up after a death. But he was always quick to find a drink and dull her overwhelming insanity down again. Eventually, every shred of hope and every last flash of a smile from her lover and little brother disappeared and she was left all alone once again.

After the sixth month that Primo had been with the little ragtag group, Quynh made it known that she had been catching a few flashes from Booker once again. And that had certainly helped to explain the odd looks Booker would occasionally shoot him in the mornings when Primo would wake up with a smile on his face.

The man had yet to speak to him about it. Andy and Joe both still remained tight lipped about Quynh. They had seemed both relieved and disappointed that Primo had never made it known that he was dreaming of Quynh. So Primo never brought her up.

\---------

Two months later, Primo walked in on the three of them talking in hushed whispers in the kitchen of their current safe house in Brazil.

Primo braced himself in a slouch against the door jam with one foot bend underneath him and his arms crossed over his chest. He stayed silent and still; they’d notice him soon enough. If only because Joe had an uncanny ability to sense Primo’s presence enter a room only a scant minute after he’d slunk in, no matter how silent Primo was or how focused Joe was on his current sketch.

Booker was sitting hunched over at the table with both hands threaded through his hair in a way that Primo now knew was an indication of the level of Booker’s anxiety. Both hands meant that this was a rather serious discussion and judging from the guilty and desperate looks on Joe and Andy’s faces, said discussion was about Quynh. The little viper seemed to be the only thing that put that level of despair and helplessness on Andy’s face.

“There’s a whole lot of nothng out there, Book. We’ve looked. We searched for decades and we have kept a careful watch for anything that has been dug out of the sea. It’s just---”

Primo cut Andy off with something he had said to Leonardo the same night Primo had murdered his uncle and brought a map of his ambitions to Leonardo’s kitchen table in the middle of the night...

“Its the sea, but you’re right. It’s a great expanse of nothing and Quynh is out there waiting for us."

Primo had been talking about a port at the time but he couldn’t see why that couldn’t also compare to a manhunt for Quynh at the bottom of the ocean. He was sure Quynh would find amusement in the comparison. The port had made Primo a very rich and powerful man and he was certain having Quynh topside would leave him rich as well; not with cash or drugs but with a great friendship.

Primo focused back on his little rabble of a family. He was growing rather fond of the gobsmacked looks on their faces when he surprised them with bits of candid information.

“What are you talking about, Nicky?” Joe asked Primo in a soft pleading voice.

He opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by Andy’s sharp words,“How the fuck do you know about Quynh? How long have you been dreaming about her?!”

Primo went to open his mouth again but was cut off by Booker this time,“Why would you keep this from us?”

Primo waited a moment, both eyebrows raised in question, “Can I answer your questions now or do you have more?”

Andy actually growled at him. Primo grinned and pushed himself away from the door jam. He pulled the empty chair away from the table and sprawled back into it; the same way he would in a lawn chair or on a beach.

“I have been dreaming of a little viper filled with insanity and rage since that first night in the car. It was very boring to watch someone with no emotion other than anger drown again and again. All I could feel was her insanity. I didn’t know what or who she was until several days later.”

“Why wouldn’t you tell us?” Joe asked just as softly as before.

Primo just sent him a reproachful look, “We had just met. You made no mention of Quynh and I was convinced at first that she was only in my imagination.”

“You should have said something once you knew.” Andy said sharply, her words like a physical attack.

He blanked his expression and let the intensity in his eyes bore into Andy’s furious ones. After a moment, she caved and lowered her head into her hands with a tired sigh. “Damn it, Nicky.”

Primo leaned forward and folded his fingers together to rest on the table, “Quynh and I have spoken every night for the last year. She was completely feral in the beginning---” he graciously ignored Joe’s snort and muttered, “She wasn’t the only feral one was she?” and continued, giving no indication that he even heard Joe, “---and it took time to figure out how to send or receive more than strong emotions. Eventually, she calmed enough to exchange names and from there; our history through flashes… like a movie without sound.”

Primo paused when Booker made a choked off sound. Andy and Joe each shot a fervent look at the man. The Frenchman swallowed thickly and spoke with a cracking voice, “I haven’t dreamt of Quynh in years but lately I’ve been getting flashes of other things.”

“What things?” Andy snapped at him.

Booker avoided her eyes but continued, “I can see her laughing often. I can see her smiling. I can feel her amusement and happiness...” Booker looked up from his hands and over at Primo with a look on his face that Primo couldn’t quite read. It looked like gratitude or appreciation, though why Booker specifically would feel that way made little sense to him.

Primo, by default, felt that gratitude was very much a wasted emotion but his soft hearted side, his "Nicky" side...the one he had had to ruthlessly smother and deeply internalize from the time he was young right up until Andy had found him... could understand Andy or Joe feeling grateful. Afterall, they were the ones that lost Quynh in the first place; it had been Andy’s arms that Quynh was ripped out of and it had been Joe that had arrived mere hours too late to find Andy screaming and crying out in desperation to save her longtime friend and lover.

For Booker to feel indebted to Primo; or Nicky he supposed since Primo had been letting more of his squishy-sentimental-emotional side rule his decisions as of late; made very little sense to the former mafioso boss. The man never knew Quynh. When he had joined the family, Quynh had already been trapped in the deep alone for a few centuries. She had already been well past insane.

“...I can feel her affection.”

Primo just looked at Booker blankly. The man adverted his eyes quickly before almost timidly meeting his gaze again. It was not a behavior that he had ever associated with Booker so it was strange to see the almost submission in the man’s face and posture now.

“... if you are the reason for her return to sanity, Nicky, then I can definitely say that Quynh adores you.”

Primo didn’t change his stoic expression but he did turn his head to study Andy and Joe. Joe’s eyes were wide and shiny and brimming over with emotion. He looked very close to crying. As Primo he could keep his expression relatively blank but as Nicky... he had to actually stop himself from reaching out to wrap the man in a hug.... He turned away and looked toward Andy.

Whereas Joe looked overwrought, Andy on the other hand looked absolutely stricken and ready to break something. Her knuckles were white where they were clenched into fists on top of the table. Her dark eyes were glassy with tears and held a storm of other wild emotions. Usually when she got this emotional or when something struck this close to her wounded heart, she went out and killed something. Both his Primo and Nicky sides approved of this method to expel excess emotions. In his opinion, it was a very healthy and preferable option over just riding the drowning wave strong emotions usually caused.

But it was Nicky that didn’t look back to Booker; choosing instead to keep his gaze steady on Andy when he responded, “Quynh é notto speciale…uno spirito affine.” _Quynh is very special...a kindred spirit._

Andy’s clenched jaw softened at the same time her lips pursed tightly. Her eyes welled with tears alarmingly fast but Nicky pushed on in his explanation, “Lie é una sorella per me.” _She is a sister to me._

Andy nodded once and the tears streaked down her cheeks. With no hesitation and very little acknowledgment to the rapid remodeling of his psyche and revelation of his internal character, he rose from his chair and stepped over to her. As Nicky, he pulled her up from her chair and into his arms. She buried her face in his neck and in response he wrapped one arm around her shoulders while his other hand came up to gently stroke through her hair.

“Parla spesso di te. Ti ama moltissimo.” _She speaks about you often. She loves you very much_.

Nicky whispered the words into her hair. He felt her nod into his neck and heard the sob bubble out of her. Her arms came around his waist and she clutched him against her tightly.

A large warm hand coming to rest on the nape of his neck had Nicky looking up into Joe’s teary face. The man looked so impossibly soft and beautiful in that moment that Nicky had to look away from the love he could see in those liquid brown eyes.

Nicky looked to Booker and caught the man wiping away a tear from his scruffy cheek. When the man looked up, he gave Nicky an approving nod laden with a multitude of emotions that Nicky had no hope of unpacking.

Instead, he just tipped his head to rest against Andy’s and tightened his hold around the strong woman. And if Nicky had to try incredibly hard to not think about Joe’s broad palm on the back of his neck and if he struggled to ignore the warmth and heat spreading throughout his body from that point of contact... well no one was there to confront him about it.

Finite. 


	4. Malta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We see the start of a family and the unresolved sexual tension between Nicky and Joe reaches the boiling point aka Malta

Chapter 4

After that day it the kitchen, it was like the floodgates opened.

Andy was more present... she wasn't just a 16th century ghost going through the motions of "living" any more. She engaged with the three of them less like a commander did with their troops and more and more like an older, jaded sister.

She joked and laughed and brightened in a way that Nicky could do nothing but marvel at. She opened up to all of them and Nicky found himself looking for even more ways to bring her out of her self imposed shell. That was what had led to him discovering her well hidden sweet tooth 

They had been at an outdoor market in Mumbai, India and a woman had been selling Galub jamun, a deep fried ball of milk powder that was dipped in sugary syrup and sweetened with saffron and rose water. Though subtle for a regular person, Andy had been practically drooling and it had been very obvious to Nicky.

Nicky stopped Andy before she could walk past the vendor and he bought a large selection of desserts from the woman. Nicky had offered Andy one while he took the other and silently urged i.e. Goaded her into trying it with him. Andy's pleased smile was small but Nicky felt the victory when she closed her eyes and moaned in bliss with every bite of the sweet treat.

From then on, Nicky made sure to always have samples of the local desserts in the house. He had tried to make them himself but he was better off not trying to bake... his talents were far better with cooking meals, not creating delicate desserts.

Andy had apparently been keeping her aficionado tendencies for sweet food from everyone because she surprised them one evening when she was able to list off the various ingredients for the baklava Nicky had picked up in Bosnia. It had been a unique combination and they all had been arguing passionately and in multiple languages(Nicky was right, Joe was the only one that spoke Italian the way it deserved to be spoken whilst Booker continued to deliberately butcher it.) about the last ingredient.

Andy had listed off all of the main ingredients, including the one they had struggled with, without even pausing. They had been stunned and she had just shot them a very smug smile.

From there, Booker and Nicky had an ongoing bet that they could stump Andy with the ingredients on various kinds of Baklava. Over time, the betting became more refined and they restricted her to listing the top 4 main ingredients and she had to name the region it was made in.

Booker refused to bet against Andy. She had laughed in delight when Joe called Booker a suck up. Booker was quick to point out though that Joe hadn't taken sides at all in order to avoid betting against Nicky. Joe had merely shrugged, unashamed at showing his favoritism.

It all only made Nicky even more determined to stump her in the future. He went to great lengths to secure the sweet dessert from random and unknown locations all across the Mediterranean. He had stumped her only once and Booker had sulked for weeks after.

Booker and Nicky's relationship had also progressed. For the first time, Nicky felt what it would have been like to have grown up with a brother. He clapped Nicky on the back often and needled him into watching football on the television. Their goading and shouting matches turned into trash talking and then to betting with whatever cash they had in their pockets.

Nicky didn’t know where the other three got their money, though he supposed several hundred years of money schemes and investments probably had financially set them up very well. Nicky himself had several cash stashes and bank accounts across Europe. Leonardo had known that Primo had millions squirreled away but he didn’t how much or where exactly it all was. And from all signs, when Booker had checked for him, Leonardo had never even inquired or tried to find it. Nicky supposed that Leonardo assumed Primo had taken that secret to his grave.

Joe often kept himself as an impartial third party bookkeeper for Nicky and Booker’s betting. From sports to how many numbers Nicky came away with after a night out at a club(he always threw them in the trash after but it was good fun for Nicky to play at being a chameleon that could change its colors to suit the target) to how many times Booker could tell someone to fuck off within a certain amount of time without offending the person enough to actually leave...

Nicky had lost that one because he hadn't specified that Booker couldn't switch languages; the woman had apparently thought that he was speaking sexy things to her because the alarmed look on the Frenchman's face when she started flirting with him was absolutely hysterical.

He and Booker even bet on how many times Joe picked up a pencil or a piece of charcoal to sketch in a day. Booker had attempted to rig the bet by hiding all of the man’s journals and sketch pads. He even went as far as to hide every spare scrap of paper in the apartment they were staying in.

It didn’t stop Joe’s fingers from twitching with the need to draw. The artist had grabbed anything; a paper napkin, the back of a cereal box and Nicky’s personal favorite, one of Booker’s white linen shirts.

Afterwards, Booker had threatened to burn it but Nicky commandeered it and stowed it away somewhere safe. Joe had done a charcoal portrait of Nicky’s face in profile while he had been stretched out on the couch reading a novel. It was stunning and Nicky refused to see it ruined.

Nicky had won the bet, though Booker claimed that he had cheated when he saw Nicky sprawling out in various positions in different lighting _coincidentally_ always within Joe’s sight line.

“You know you’re his so called muse, you cheating little shit,” the Frenchman had walked away muttering. Nicky just grinned at him cheekily and counted the wad of cash Booker had slapped into his hand.

Joe himself had taken what little restraint he had shown before about staying respectful of Nicky's space and tossed it aside. Nicky was constantly greeted with a palm wrapped around the side of his neck, random warm hugs, and if Joe was passing behind him or following him through a door, a hand resting low on the small of his back.

Joe touched him in a hundred little ways throughout the day. He always looked so happy and content that Nicky was loathe to tell him to stop... and no it wasn’t because Nicky secretly enjoyed Joe’s inability to keep any sort of distance between them...

But it didn’t seem to matter what Nicky did. Be it cooking for their little rabble of a family or shooting the man he and Joe were meant to be simply observing all because Nicky didn’t like the way the man had yelled at his teenage son... Joe always looked at Nicky with a loving acceptance and never withheld his affectionate touches. Joe saw all of Nicky and he loved every piece of him.

Nicky knew Joe loved him. The man was far from subtle and unashamedly looked at Nicky with his puppy dog eyes for long minutes at a time. He never adverted his eyes when Nicky caught him looking, instead choosing to send a crinkly eyed smile or a soft wink at him. Nicky always had to look away when he did, not used to being on the receiving end of that much positive emotion.

No one in his previous (in his head, Nicky liked to call it B.I. Before Immortality and A.I. After Immortality) life had ever loved him. His mother had died when he was too young to remember her and the closest he had come since then had been respect and affection from Leonardo and his wife Regina. But they hadn’t trusted him and everyone else in his life had either feared or resented him.

And Nicky had honestly reveled in that fear; it had kept him safe. He had been raised by bad men, first his father and then his uncle. If he didn’t play their game and play it better, he was either going to end up dead in a shallow grave in the mountains or as some groveling underling which would probably guarantee him a spot in the ground even faster. He had to be smart, ruthless, a little unhinged, but never let his father or uncle question his loyalty.

This upbringing had given Nicky the innate ability to read people at a glance. When any attention he got from his father came by way of harsh fists and steel toed boots, he learned to be still and silent; watching, waiting and easily overlooked.

That patience let him observe people and learn every secret and weak spot they were trying to keep hidden. He stored that knowledge away and used it whenever his uncle doubted him...be useful but not so useful that his uncle felt threatened because having his uncle feel threatened would only result in the man keeping Nicky under closer watch.

It had been even easier for Nicky to use those skills after he had killed his uncle and had taken over the business. By then Nicky had had a dangerous reputation and he was the richest and most powerful man in Europe but, he could still easily make himself bland and unassuming so he could get lost in a crowd. When people overlooked him, Nicky could glean a lot of interesting information.

Nicky used all of those learned skills to his benefit when he wanted to manipulate someone with a few words. From experience, he found words usually had more power to reach and influence a person’s innermost thoughts and feelings. With the right words said in the right tone with the right inflection, Nicky could have someone rethinking every decision they’d ever made in their entire life.

When he only wanted to instill fear, Nicky found showing a quick fire ruthlessness, abrupt precise movements and a tendency to pull a gun on anyone that pissed him off worked best to yield him his desired results. There was something about seeing an unassuming relaxed man snapping into a rage where he showed no hesitancy to kill that left people wary and fearful.

As Primo he had been very good at using his intense and unpredictable reputation to get what he needed. What most people had failed to see though, was that Primo’s actions had never been unpredictable. Only Leonardo had known and seen Primo to be incredibly calculated in everything that he did--- He planned for every unknown outcome but let his target make their own mistakes. Primo didn’t give people the benefit of the doubt, he knew they would all fuck up or try to betray him eventually, but he never acted until after they dug their own grave.

Since joining his new family of immortals, Nicky had come to rely more on his words. With the name change and the constant jumping from one country to another, Nicky couldn’t rely on Primo’s carefully cultivated reputation or really any reputation at all.

So he became even better at channeling his intensity into words that would cut deep and unnerve people if he needed them to. Other occasions called for reassurance for a group of innocents or even to lull a target into a fake sense of security. Subterfuge became as easy as breathing for Nicky and he truthfully greatly enjoyed using this learned empathy to his and the group's advantage.

That being said, Nicky felt no reason to use Joe’s feelings to manipulate him. Nicky actually found himself wanting to protect the ridiculous man from any and every person who would dare to crush Joe’s optimistic outlook on life.

How the man had lived almost nine hundred years without losing that optimism, Nicky didn’t know. But Joe still looked at the world like it had endless beauty and possibilities and Nicky would gladly take up a sword to shield him from anyone who dared to try to change that. He found himself bizarrely protective and a little envious of Joe’s ability to see all the good that there was in the world.

Nicky had been raised with so much gray and black that the light often blinded him and made him want to turn away from it, but with Joe, who was the epitomeof light and brightness, Nicky was slowly growing accustomed to seeing the world when it wasn’t cloaked in shadows. Nicky truthfully thought it was a beautiful place even if he had no idea what to do with it all.

As time went on, Nicky found himself searching for Joe in every room he entered; locking onto and filing away his position before moving onto his intended destination or task. He found himself automatically filling the space next to Joe at every given opportunity. Nicky pressed their sides or legs together and was always rewarded with an arm wrapped around his shoulders, a hand resting at the small of his back or a palm sitting on his knee.

The contact never failed to send heat radiating warmth throughout his entire body. It... and Joe... felt safe. Joe made the world around him feel safe. Nicky had never once felt safe in his entire life and he was beginning to covet the feeling.

If Joe were to ever permanently leave the world, it would become a very grave and dark place. And the emotions that Joe was relentlessly and shamelessly but lovingly in the process of creating in Nicky would forever die with him.

It was really in Nicky’s best interest to protect the foolish man not only from those who would see Joe harmed but also from Nicky's own sharp and dangerous sides... If that meant that Nicky had to allow himself to soften his edges and show his affection more openly to his new little family then so be it.

\-------------

**It was a night nearly eighteen months after Nicky had joined their immortal army, when Nicky finally confessed to Quynh about his restlessness...**

**Several months after the turning point in the kitchen, she had assured Nicky that Booker had made amends and apologized for cutting her off from her family for so long. Booker made sure to visit her on occasion and had made sure to keep their connection open even if he was not present himself. Nicky understood, Booker was innately a private person and having someone feeling their way through his innermost thoughts probably stressed the man out beyond belief.**

**Nicky could see the change in Booker. The man rarely drank anymore outside of a glass of whiskey with dinner and he overall looked lighter and much more at ease in his skin. Nicky assumed that without Quynh's constant insanity battering at his consciousness and no overbearing guilt from seeing Andy and Joe's reactions to his nightmares, Booker was able to fight his way out of the depression and personal guilt from his own history with his family to start to heal. Nicky was happy for him, seeing his grief and guilt shed away more and more every day was a good look on the man.**

**Nicky himself visited Quynh every night. Some nights, he was just a quiet presence for her as she cycled though drowning to death and then reviving but more often then not, they spoke about a wide variety of topics. She was teaching him phrases in every language she knew and Nicky was sure most of them were swears or curses but he wholeheartedly approved.**

**He tried to keep Quynh up to date on the events of the day and she teased him mercilessly when she saw the truly endless loop of flashes of Joe's flirting that Nicky couldn’t figure out how to hide from her. She always told him how much she loved the glimpses of them all laughing and happy and he knew she enjoyed seeing the different cultures, wildlife and weather patterns that had been so difficult to visit the last time she had been above the waves.**

**He kept her abreast of their progress on tracking down her location. Nicky was beyond frustrated with how slow it was or how it felt like they had to start all over at the beginning time and time again. Tracking ship route and ocean currents from five hundred years ago wasn’t easy and contacting experts was very hit or miss.**

**Whenever Nicky expressed those frustrations, she always calmly reassured him that she knew they were searching and that she was confident that they would find her. Her hope and happiness had been greatly restored with Nicky’s drive and ambition to see her free.**

**Booker had had an idea on how to use the internet to find research groups that had found and explored various shipwrecks to see if they seen or cataloged an iron coffin. He was burning through online blogs and any and all video footage of anything that even remotely came close to the description of Quynh’s prison. It was slow going but at least it was moving forward however sluggish.**

**But Nicky found himself restless and unable to escape the trapped feeling that made him pace relentlessly during the day. He could attribute some of it to reliving Quynh’s drowning, the sheer solitude and the stark claustrophobic feeling of being stuck somewhere and helpless to do anything about it.**

**Nicky didn’t know how Quynh handled it without losing every single scrap of sanity she had left.**

**Her laugh would have sounded musical if he had been able to hear it, “I have had a lot of practice, my dear Primo---” Nicky just sent her a rueful look and watched her revive again to finish her thought, “---so do what I cannot. Go fight.”**

**He knows she meant the missions that Andy, Joe and Booker occasionally left to go on. They never all left together at once. Nicky was always left with at least one baby sitter, though Joe insisted that wasn’t the reason why Andy didn’t want to leave Nicky alone.**

**“After what happened to me, I can’t imagine Andy would allow any of her family, of us, to be alone on the off chance that we were captured again.”**

**Nicky nodded at the words. Quynh had come to know Nicky incredibly well and he considered her much more than a friend. She was as close to a beloved sister as he had ever had.**

**“Ask her to allow you to go with them. Killing evil men will make you feel better.”**

**Nicky smiled and shook his head gently, “I was once one of those evil man.”**

**Her next words spread warmth through his chest, “No. You were never an evil man**.”

\---------

The next morning, Nicky told Andy he wanted to take part in a mission. His tone brooked no argument. He had been traveling with the group constantly even if he didn’t go on the actual assignments. He knew what type of counter measures they took to avoid suspicion. Nicky had fit into the group dynamic pretty well other than a few mishaps...

...If you could call Nicky going off the rails and killing someone that Andy hadn’t wanted him to kill a mishap...

But to be fair, both times the men Nicky had killed had deserved much worse than a quick bullet to the head, but that hadn’t stopped Andy from grounding him for weeks until he could reign himself in. She said he risked their exposure. Nicky just thought that she didn’t want to have to be the one stuck watching him because Booker and Joe’s skills were needed elsewhere.

He waited with barely restrained impatience for Andy's final word on the matter as she slowly sipped her coffee and peered over the rim of her mug at him.

“Are you sure you’re ready, Nicky? You tend to let the feral alley cat, who is arguably your better half by the way, out to play without any rules whenever you go on missions.”

Booker snorted out a laugh into his own coffee mug. Nicky just glared him into remaining silent lest he risk Nicky’s wrath; the consequences of which would be Nicky pouring the Booker’s entire stash of seventy year old malt whiskey that the Frenchman had stored in this safe house down the kitchen sink.

Nicky looked back at Andy after he had glowered Booker into submission and opened his mouth to defend himself but Andy continued, “There is one mission that could be a good fit for you to see if you can keep the feral tom cat locked in its cage.”

Nicky scowled darkly at her, "Se fossimo stati in Calabria ti avrei spinto giù da un dirupo molto tempo fa.” _If we were in Calabria, I would have pushed you off a cliff a long time ago._

She just chuckled at him, unfortunately, unaffected by his irritation aimed her way, "Maybe. But you’re not in Calabria any more, little brother.”

Nicky rolled his eyes at the affectionate little moniker Andy had graced him with after he revealed his dreams of Quynh.

“I have a contact in Malta. He has his fingers in the underworld of the middle-east. I asked him to keep an ear out for anything involving the human trafficking ring in Syria that Booker and I have been looking into. We’re scheduled to exchange information in a few weeks in Malta. I need you and Joe-- yes, Nicky, Joe is going with you. I need someone there to watch your back--- You and Joe need to scope out the area for at least a week before I arrive for the meet.”

Andy paused at Nicky’s stony expression and thinned lips but she continued with nothing more than a little smirk at his expense, “This guy knows I have a team but he doesn’t know what any of you look like and I want to keep it that way. This is eyes only, Nicky. I need you to set up as a lookout. I need the town scouted out and I need you watching my back when I meet with this guy. If you can’t handle this, tell me now and I’ll have Booker do it. And Joe needs to be there to watch your six when you’re staring down the scope. Got it?”

Nicky clenched his jaw but nodded curtly at her,“Si.”

\----------

A week later he and Joe were on boat hopping on the route to Malta.

Nicky had long ago abandoned his flashier fitted wardrobe in favor of something looser and nondescript which not only enabled him to go mostly overlooked but also conceal the guns and knives he carried with him everywhere. It was something that Nicky had had to adapt to.

His life as Primo meant a loud, unpredictable personality that often bordered on chaotic...Flashy, fitted clothing that exposed the weapons he kept tucked in his waistband and a loud, unhinged arrogance that he shoved in people’s faces… his life as Nicky had to be much more subtle.

He had to be confident but understated, like he belonged that country, in that city, or in that specific room the same way any other local would even if he happened to have stood out with his skin color or distinct Italian features and accent. It was something he had picked up from Andy and Joe... Booker didn’t seem to care what anyone thought of a scraggly drunk French guy but Nicky guessed that was as good of a cover as any.

It was a skill that Nicky had never needed before. He either needed to stand out or totally be overlooked. Andy and Joe showed him how to fit in even when you stood out… how to make yourself look like a local even when it was clear you weren’t.

The secret seemed to be a quiet unobtrusive confidence. Don’t try to blend in, you’ll just look like you’re trying to hide. You have to seem as though you belong there. You can stand out just don’t leave a lasting impression.

Joe had somehow managed to do just that while also keeping with the latest fashion trends, haircuts and social slang. He garnered admiring looks where ever he went. Everyone welcomed him and his outgoing personality, even if that particular region was not a safe place for someone of Joe’s ethnicity or skin color.

Nicky was at a total loss on how to replicate Joe’s ability to fit right in to any region or local scene they visited. Nicky could act but he couldn’t maintain that facade for too long so he found it easier to be the unassuming one. He was the one that was striking but in a forgettable way to the general public, though it seemed the artist types still gravitated to him for some reason.

Joe had chuckled at him when Nicky had voiced those observations out loud,“I can’t fault their taste, amore.”

Nicky had graciously ignored the endearment.

Nicky being the “quiet one” allowed for people to get distracted by Joe and his poetry and flowery language so that Nicky could better observe people and watch for any outside threats. Many times people had made the mistake of deeming Nicky “shy” and a “pushover”…and those people only made that mistake once... If his cutting remarks didn’t do it, a quick twist of his wrist resulted in broken fingers or a broken arm for said people always seemed to revise their assumptions.

Judging from the heated looks Joe always sent him afterwards, Nicky didn’t think Joe minded his more ruthless side. But they had yet to act on the thick tension between them. Nicky knew that Joe loved him, he knew Joe would eagerly jump at the first opportunity if Nicky ever gave any indication that he’d be open to a relationship of any kind with him.

But Nicky had drawn a line in the sand that he was reluctant to cross. Joe was an amazing man… he was so kindhearted and open and beautiful. Nicky knew if he ever had to chance to have Joe in his bed, he would never be able to let the man go.

Nicky knew very well that he was a possessive man. Growing up the way he had ensured that everything he valued was taken from him time and time again. It only made him want to dig his claws in deeper to those few things he really treasured.

He and Joe were almost guaranteed to live a very long life. But before Nicky took the next and what would also be the last step, he had to be sure that Joe knew exactly what being with Nicky entailed.

Nicky knew he wasn’t a good enough man for Joe, but he also knew he could eventually earn his place to be forever by Joe’s side. And while he was earning the privilege of loving Joe for the rest of his long life, Nicky would do every single thing in his power to protect Joe from any harm that could possibly threaten his safety and happiness.

That promise was part of what had landed them where they were now, sitting on a beach with their bare feet buried in the hot sand, watching the sun-heated Malta sea water lap lazily at the shore.

They had scoped out the lookout spot, a room on the fourth floor of a quaint historic hotel. It overlooked the little outdoor cafe that Andy had told them would be the meet-up location. They spent alternating mornings and evenings for those first few days in the little town visiting the market and shopping in the cute boutique shops.

They didn’t explicitly say they were together but with the constant small, though intimate, ways Joe touched him and the way Nicky couldn’t help but gravitate into the other man’ space... it wasn’t any wonder why several of the shopkeepers had patted their cheeks and wish them a happy time on their honeymoon.

The first time, Nicky had opened his mouth to object but Joe had wrapped an arm around his waist and thanked the kind old woman before dragging Nicky deeper into the shop. Nicky had shot him a reproachful look but Joe just simply responded by lacing their fingers together and bestowing on him one of his twinkly eyed besotted expressions.

It was as secure of a cover as they could get and it allowed them almost free reign of the one hundred square mile island. It also gave them the excuse to remain undisturbed in their ‘honeymoon suite’ for long stretches of time when they needed to stakeout the spot for anyone else doing the same.

On their fifth day on the island, when the cafe and shop owners all called out to Joe by name, much to Nicky’s admonishment and Joe’s bashful embarrassment, they got a message from the front desk of the hotel they were staying in to call Nicky’s sister “Andrea” at their earliest convenience.

When they rang her back from the phone in their bedroom, she told them that she wouldn’t be meeting them in Malta after all, as her “good friend that had promised to meet her” couldn’t make it as he had an unexpected “family emergency”. But she wished them a good time on the “rest of their honeymoon” and she would see them when they got back in a week. She also expressed her hope that they made good use of the champagne that she was sending for them and that they should enjoy more of the sights other than just the honeymoon suite they were barricaded in.

It took Nicky ten full minutes to wipe the astonished look off of his face. He was worried Joe was actually going to pop a blood vessel in his forehead from laughing so hard at Andy’s sheer audacity. She had basically locked them in a closet and told them to work out their unresolved sexual tension.

So, with Andy’s apparent blessing to remain in Malta and enjoy themselves for another week, he and Joe decided to get a late dinner at one of the nicer restaurants and then finish their night at one of the clubs for drinks and dancing.

This was far from the first time the four of them; he, Joe, Andy and Booker, had enjoyed experiencing the nightlife in whatever city they were currently occupying... Amsterdam was still ranked as Nicky’s favorite.

Andy had relented and let Nicky cut loose and snort a few hits of cocaine in tribute to his past life as Primo with promise aka threat to shoot him in the head to sober him up if he got too wasted. He had just grinned at her and proceeded to goad her into a “pinky promise”.

She wearily eyed him practically bouncing on his toes in excitement but hooked her pinky finger through his in exasperation at his foolishness. She used their linked fingers to hold him in place long enough to get in a quick ruffle of his hair before he could duck away with a snorting laugh.

The four of them had gotten dressed up and then hit club after club. Nicky had convinced Booker to do a couples of lines with him and it had been amazing to watch the man ride the high of giddiness; smiling and giggling and dancing in the thick of the crowd alongside Nicky. Andy had tossed back a few shots and had wandered off to do god knew what.

Quynh had alluded that Andy had always liked sex with whomever she had found attractive in that moment. The little viper had made mention of the threesomes and orgies she and Andy had engaged in on occasion. Nicky had honestly never noticed Andy sleeping around before that night that Nicky reintroduced Quynh back into the group through his dreams.

Quynh had insisted that Nicky tell Andy that not only was Quynh okay with Andy sleeping with other people but she also fully expected her lover to be enjoying herself so that when Quynh was finally free, Andy could show her all of the new things she had learned. Nicky didn’t bring it up again, he was comfortable with sex, but he didn’t want all of the details of his big sisters’ love lives.

Joe had refrained from anything harder than a few drinks that night. He had whispered in Nicky’s ear in a low gravel filled voice that he much preferred to watch Nicky have fun and to gather plenty of blackmail material on Booker. Nicky had merely shaken his head in mock disappointment but he couldn’t fault the man for his ulterior motives.

He also couldn’t shake off the line of Joe’s searing heating along his side or against his back where the man stayed closely pressed to Nicky the whole night. Joe's steady presence felt safe as Nicky allowed himself to fully let go, secure in his certainty that Joe was there watching their back.

Compared to that night in Amsterdam many months ago, this night had a very different kind of anticipation in the air. The tension between them was thick and palpable but somehow still comfortable and not oppressive.

They both dressed for the clubs later, knowing that anyone eating this late at one of the few restaurants on the island were also gearing up to hit the bars or clubs as well.

Nicky had tucked a fitted sky blue, button down long sleeved shirt into the waistband of a pair of tight navy blue slacks that cupped his groin just so. The shirt reminded him of his favorite light blue outfit he had worn as Primo. That outfit had been a statement piece and he was sure Joe's tongue would have hit the floor but alas Nicky hadn't been able to find another one like it. 

When he turned around, Nicky pretended not to notice Joe struggling to keep his eyes off the accentuated curve of his ass. He knew what he looked like; he knew that the shirt showed off the cut of his broad shoulders and tapered waist and the slacks hugged his ass and thighs perfectly.

He was a little worried that the puddle of drool Joe was leaving on the entryway floor would be big enough to slip in. And to be fair, Nicky was having a similar reaction. He at least tried to remain fairly stoic but he wasn’t sure how successful he was...

Joe had found a pair of dark wash denim pants that looked painted on. They looked tailored to his long legs and muscular thighs and the way they framed the bulge of his groin… Nicky had to actually swallow the extra saliva that pooled in his mouth at the sight.

Joe had paired the ridiculously hot jeans with a linen cream colored, button down long sleeve shirt that clung to his biceps, pectorals and abs. He had chosen to leave enough buttons undone at his throat that his collarbones were exposed and he had rolled the cuffs of the sleeves to just below his elbows...

Nicky had to actually look away from the sight of the man’s corded forearms. The alligator skin loafers on Joe's feet almost perfectly matched the soft looking light brown leather belt around his hips.

Nicky used the excuse of lacing up his own black Italian leather(because everything was made better in Italy) capped toe Oxfords to sit down, take a breather and attempt to collect himself. Though it hardly did Nicky any good because when he finished putting his shoes on and stood up, Joe had put on a matching light brown leather vest that looked butter soft.

Nicky almost swallowed his tongue and all of his blood rushed to his dick as the man finished buttoning the last of three buttons that framed his pectorals the same way the deep v cut of a woman's blouse would frame their breasts.

The outfit wasn’t even technically “in style” within this time and country. The man looked like he combined current fashion with American cowboy fashion and somehow ended up looking like he was walking the runway at a fashion show. Nicky didn’t think a single person who laid eyes on Joe would care even one iota that the man wasn’t wearing anything close to current men’s fashion.

Nicky was going to have to beat every person on this damn island back with a stick to keep Joe from getting mauled.

‘Caro dio gli aguro buona furtuna.’ _Dear god, wish him luck._

Nicky was going to need all of it if he was somehow going to keep his hands off of Joe.

To be continued...

Author's note:

A link to Joe's outfit [here](https://www.luulla.com/product/1614198/men-s-leather-western-vest)

And his [shoes](https://www.ambrogioshoes.com/products/belvedere-falcon-mens-designer-shoes-almond-caiman-crocodile-calf-skin-leather-monkstraps-loafers-b05-bv2859?variant=32361998221450&utm_medium=cpc&utm_source=google&utm_campaign=Google%20Shopping&currency=USD&utm_campaign=gs-2020-10-16&utm_source=google&utm_medium=smart_campaign&gclid=Cj0KCQiAs5eCBhCBARIsAEhk4r68DNVy8N9fTHzY0P9sgsu2sTs_uNH-3fNW7RQaSPzyhEBs3lxgU9YaAqSSEALw_wcB)

Nicky’s outfit [here](https://images.app.goo.gl/L255kGBHamBwrzVdA)

And his [shoes](https://www.bergdorfgoodman.com/p/tom-ford-mens-cap-toe-leather-lace-up-shoes-prod160980036)

Thank you to nicolodikaysani on Tumblr for posting an absolutely perfect gif set of Primo's blue outfit... I couldn't have described it better! You can see the link to the post [here](https://nicolodikaysani.tumblr.com/post/631503579208925184/primo-that-amazing-blue-outfit-ass)

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all enjoyed this! Please don't hesitate to leave a comment even if its just a thumbs up emoji! 
> 
> For real, comments are huge encouragement to writers and everything counts!
> 
> There will be updates every few days, the first story is finished, as is the sequel, and an additional installment piece so let me know if you want to read it all!
> 
> Check 0ut my Tumblr for the gif series/story that birthed this story!  
> https://hjryder.tumblr.com/post/640223842454896641/solarsystemmoonandsun-how-can-this-little-shit


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